


Like Water for Chocolate

by Pie (potteresque_ire)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Auror Scorpius Malfoy, M/M, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-30
Updated: 2009-11-30
Packaged: 2019-03-29 22:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13936914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potteresque_ire/pseuds/Pie
Summary: Scorpius Malfoy didn't take losing well—especially when losing meant his sparring instructor straddling him for all to see.





	Like Water for Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> **_Como Agua para Chocolate_** : … In some Latin American countries, hot chocolate is made with water... Chocolate will only melt when the water reaches boiling point. The saying 'like water for chocolate' can be used as a metaphor for describing a state of passion or – sometimes – sexual arousal. It may also be used to refer to anger, such as being 'boiling mad'. ~ Wikipedia

All eyes on him, Scorpius felt his blood boil.  
  
He writhed to rid himself of the weight straddled on him. Failing that, he threw punches and tried to knee it from behind.  
  
The clock was ticking, counting seconds, timing his shame.  
  
He could imagine the exchanges after class— _Scorp, you really like bottoming, don’t you?_ or _Need a private mo’ in the showers? That’s some one-on-one action you had out there._  
  
Scorpius could deal with these jokes. He, too, poked fun of his classmates’ skirt-chasing ways. What he couldn’t stand was _who_ had him under control.  
  
Pride was the fountain of his strength. His fists rained upon his opponent, hell broke loose just long enough for him to push himself up on his elbows.  
  
That was a mistake. His arms were engaged when his dagger left the sheath on his hip. A cool blade soon pressed against his neck.  
  
“This is unacceptable, Scorpius.” Harry Potter released him and stood. “You hexed off the fingernails of a dueling champ but can’t fight off an unarmed Muggle?” The dagger fell beside its owner as he sighed. “We’ll repeat the drill next time. Everyone else—” he turned to the other students “—will stay around and watch like today.”

~*~ 

Scorpius scrambled on his feet. “If you want to kick me out, sir, just do it. No offence taken.”  
  
His classmates had left for the changing room. Harry, wearing only jeans and his robe draped on one shoulder, turned to look at Scorpius from the doorway.  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“How long has it been now? Three weeks? What am I? The Chosen Bum-Cushion?” The scuffle had torn his training trousers to the point of indecency. Scorpius took the opportunity to adjust his crotch in full view of his instructor, who deserved more gratitude than a one-finger salute. “My friends can’t look me in the eyes these days. Thanks to you, sir, they now pity me for having to submit to you and your honourable arse while they watch. I’m a loser from the start every single time.”  
  
“You think so?”  
  
“In this 'ritual' you so advocate, a magicless, weaponless bloke, somehow, has an Auror entirely at his mercy. The odds of that happening?” Scorpius curled his lips to a smirk. “Zero. Because thanks to you too, I’m professionally trained in self-defence. Have my wand? Can't stop me either. To conclude, sir, fat chance I’d invite myself into a tight corner like that.”  
  
Harry’s chuckle cast another _Incendio_ on his ire. “Fat chance Fluorish and Blotts carries invites for manhandling.”  
  
“Please.” Scorpius conveniently drew the “s’ to a hiss. “Stop playing me like a child. I’m here on my own merit. My field record is _exceptional_ , if you’d pardon my honesty.” No doubt Harry knew; he had the final say on the admission into the elite training programme. “St-Mungos-worthy hexes? Sure, I may get hit by one or two of those. But I dare anyone, without my explicit consent, to smother my face with their buttocks and keep their balls intact.”  
  
His dirty mouth had been the theme of his father’s ramblings since his joining the Aurors.  
  
Leaning against the doorway, Harry listened with his arms crossed, waited a moment before he flashed a smile. “Sharing your bedroom antics with your instructor, Scorpius? What makes you think it’s a good idea?”  
  
Shock and disbelief threw every retort conceivable to Scorpius out the proverbial window.  
  
Taking advantage of his student’s reaction—or lack thereof, Harry pressed on. “Maybe you’ve caught up on your instructor’s bedroom antics in the _Prophet_?”  
  
Scorpius’ throat went dry. Harry was referring to what was simply known as The Headline, the most notorious, must-read news issue in Wizarding history. “Chosen One Chooses Men!” It had said, as the subject and a wizard shared an infinite lip-lock, too ravenous to spare a glance to the voyeurs outside the photo. The article, a colourful if dubious account of the Hero’s escapades, was the basis of Scorpius’ budding sexual fantasies and the first of many more to come.  
  
Harry Potter—hero, Head Auror, star of gay wizard erotica.  
  
Testosterone made one fine artist; the images forming in Scorpius' mind were downright sinful. Infused with the hint of bitterness from Harry's memory, a remnant of his shame that was oh-so-sweet to Scorpius’ ears—  
  
This was pure, dark chocolate.  
  
From the way Harry was watching him, Scorpius would make good dessert as well. Only after Scorpius had bid farewell to his mind in the gutter did Harry speak again. “Bedroom antics, such as the Head Auror relishes in giving head to blonds.”  
  
Scorpius’ heart pounded. This was nothing short of a proposition, especially with Harry prowling back into the training stadium, approaching him like the eye of an invisible storm.  
  
Yet the fingers that curled around Scorpius’ wrists a moment later were more courteous than domineering. Gentle, almost. As if on cue, Harry’s robe, its burgundy opulent and distinguished as its owner, slid away to pool around their bare feet.  
  
Despite their frequent sparring, Scorpius had never viewed up close the olive skin, branded with old scars and fresh bruises, or the toned muscles, ripened to an allure more restrained but no less masculine. Passionate flames danced in the legendary green eyes, but the crow’s feet kept their gaze grounded.  
  
_Go with the flow,_ what little mental capacity left in Scorpius decided, his arms relaxing into Harry’s grasp—  
  
A twist. A sharp pain. Scorpius fell hard against the exercise mat and Harry straddled him once more, his crotch dangerously close to crushing Scorpius’ chin.  
  
The fervor in Harry’s eyes had retreated, replaced with a calm that gleamed with amusement. “I’ve kept my balls,” he said.  
  
“Fuck you.” Scorpius lashed out his legs and tried to yank his arms away as he spat between his teeth. “Or fuck me, I’m flexible. Just let me go.”  
  
“Your ego.” Harry admonished with a shake of his head, still pinning Scorpius’ wrists to their sides. “True fighters can clinch a final victory after losing a few rounds. Not you. One setback, one second of losing face and your focus is gone, your skills reduced to brat tactics: kick and scream until you get what you want.” Though talking in an easy whisper, the scents from the Head Auror—of sweat, aftershave and _man_ —raided the space between them, intense and wild enough to inebriate the most chaste of all saints.  
  
Scorpius inhaled, addicted.  
  
“If you want to keep playing on our team, Scorpius, remember this: our codes of conduct make us, more often than not, what you’d call ‘losers from the start’. Only the bad guys get to play dirty—” he let loose of Scorpius’ wrists “—on official records.”  
  
The pale imprints flushed and tingled on Scorpius’ skin, caught between numbness and the thrill of adrenaline rushing underneath. “I appreciate how clean you’ve played this round, sir.”  
  
One shove, one snatch and Harry had Scorpius again, this time with their hands locked together above their heads. “You’re welcome.” A smile ghosted Harry’s lips. “Two more things. One. Watch your language at home. I don’t need another Howler from your dad. He already said I can have your balls if you’re out of line—quote unquote: 'they’re no good for a heir anyway'.”  
  
His father and his mentor were explosives—stable until mixed.

Scorpius squirmed. Harry thrust his own hips downward and immobilized Scorpius for good with the fly of his jeans, its metal tab feathering the delicate flesh Scorpius had dared to expose.  
  
“Two.” Harry drew himself so close that Scorpius could taste the moisture, chocolate and victory on his lips. “What I see before me is more than an _exceptional_ , if cocky, young man. What I see—and want—, Auror Malfoy, is the _best_ I can ever have.”  
  
  
  
_~ Fin_


End file.
